Draven quickly moved to the side of the vampire, delivering a low kick that snapped one of its legs.
The vampire didn't even realize his leg was broken until he lost his balance and hit the ground.
As the creature collapsed, Draven moved in, grabbing its head and slamming it into the ground with a loud crack.
Blood splattered across Draven's face.
He lifted the vampire's head again.
What the hell just happened? I couldn't even react, the vampire thought in shock.
Draven looked down at him.
"Still not going to talk?" he asked coldly.
Then, without hesitation, he slammed the vampire's head into the ground again.
Its eyes rolled back—and it passed out.
Draven stared at the unconscious creature and gave a dry, humorless smile.
This dumbass just passed out.
He grabbed the vampire's left hand.
Don't think it's about time you wake up.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said. Then he tore the hand off with brutal force.
The vampire's eyes shot open as he screamed in agony.
He stared at Draven in disbelief, his body twitching from the pain.
"Do you think tearing my hand off is going to make me talk?" the vampire spat, blood dripping from his mouth.
Draven smiled. "That's why I said this was going to be fun."
He grabbed the vampire's other hand—and ripped it off too.
The vampire shrieked in pure torment, his cries turning into sobs.
Draven didn't stop.
Next came the legs—ripped clean from the sockets, one after another.
The vampire writhed, barely conscious, blood pouring from the stumps where his limbs had been.
Still, he didn't speak.
Draven stood over him, shaking his head.
He didn't even talk after all that.
"So it turns out low-rank vampires can't regenerate limbs," Draven muttered. "They can only reattach the ones they already had."
The vampire passed out again, only one hand still attached to his broken body.
Draven stepped forward.
"Since you're not going to talk," he said, "there's no use keeping you alive."
He raised his leg and brought it down with a sharp crack, crushing the vampire's skull.
Blood pooled across the forest floor.
Draven, soaked in it, turned and walked away from the mangled corpse.
There might be more of them in this forest, he thought.
Damn... I forgot to ask him if he could use blood magic.
He looked back at the crushed vampire. Maybe he might regenerate—
He paused.
No... he's dead.
I should probably go tell the old man.
With that, Draven leaped into the trees, moving swiftly from branch to branch.
---
As he left, a girl appeared in the clearing. Pale skin, black hair, blood-red eyes. Dressed as a maid.
He stood silently over the remains of the vampire.
Then, without a word, he vanished.
---
Draven reached the castle.
He ordered a maid to prepare his bath, then made his way to his father's office.
He stepped inside and told him everything that had happened in the forest.
His father leaned back in his chair. "So... how does it feel? Killing someone for the first time?"
Draven's expression didn't change.
It's not like it's my first time killing.
I've killed plenty of people in my past life. And I never feel... nothing, he thought.
He shrugged. "I don't really feel anything."
His father nodded solemnly. "I'd advise you to get some rest.
Don't think about it too much.
In this world, it's either kill or be killed.
If you hadn't killed them... you'd be dead.
You made the right call."
"Okay, Dad," Draven said, turning toward the door.
I guess it's natural for me to kill, he thought. They were going to kill me anyway.
Even if they weren't... I might have killed them regardless.
He walked out of the office in silence.
---
Later, in his room, freshly bathed and cleaned of blood, Draven sat on the edge of his bed.
The old man was right, he thought. In this world... it's always kill or be killed.